


Slayer's Pet

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: For this prompt: Buffy dominates Spike, but embraces that domination much more than in Canon. Once she accepts her attraction to him, and his need to be dominated, she uses a spell or a vampiric ritual to make Spike her pet. Maybe this is her right as a slayer, and part of a slayer ritual like the Crucamentum. Include Spike kneeling at her feet, being helpless to resist the incredible desire he has for her, collar and leash or other sign of servitude, Buffy dressing Spike in a slave costume, teasing him to a frenzy, queening him, cock ring, dominating Spike's will. Hurt/comfort ok, but no heavy S&M. Buffy is amazed at how much she enjoys this, and Spike revels in his status of cherished pet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Definite dub-con territory here, bordering on non-con at times; bondage, dom/sub, violence, angst, darkness

“And you can say goodbye – to *this* -- because you’re not gonna see it anymore, ever. Unless – you run into me somewhere, and it’s me walking away from you – but even then – I’ll probably just – you know – back away…”

 

As the unbearably stupid blonde vampire did just that, making her way warily out of the shambles that she, Drusilla, Spike and the Slayer had made of the lower level of Spike’s crypt, the Slayer of Slayers turned his hopeful, uncertain gaze on the Slayer – who was still trying to wrap her mind around all that had happened that night.

 

She was still somewhere back around the point of getting shocked with a tazer by Spike’s insane ex.

 

When she raised her eyes to meet Spike’s – and saw the vulnerable expression of mingled misery and hope in his eyes – her mind suddenly caught up to the present moment, as her fist shot out to connect with his jaw, sending him crashing into the ridiculous shrine he had made; and she turned to stalk out of his crypt – out of his life.

 

She was almost to the door when she realized that she was still absolutely seething with rage over the entire situation, and that single punch had done very little to abate her anger. Her mind was swirling with so many things she wanted to say to the infuriating vampire who had caused this disaster of a night in the first place.

 

Without missing a step, she smoothly turned at the base of the ladder and stalked back across the floor toward Spike, who had not even managed to pick himself up out of the remains of his shrine to her yet.

 

So, like the do-gooding super-hero that she was – she helped him.

 

Catching the collar of his shirt in both her hands, she hauled him up out of the wreckage of the pictures and various memorabilia he had collected of hers over the past few months, and slammed him forcefully back against the wall, taking a certain satisfaction in the groan that left his lips at the impact.

 

“No,” she stated emphatically, her eyes blazing with fury. “No, there is *no* way that you are getting off that easy on this one! I don’t think so!” She yanked him away from the wall and slammed him into it again before he had the chance to recover, demanding furiously, “What were you *thinking*? You think you can just – chain me up and *force* me to believe that you *love* me? Did you really think that was going to work?”

 

“Well – obviously, yeah,” Spike pointed out in a voice that was slightly raspy with pain, as he gave her a sheepish shrug, his eyes drawn unwillingly to the chains hanging behind them – the ones in which he had bound her earlier.

 

Unfortunately, Buffy’s eyes followed his gaze – then returned to meet his eyes again, narrowed over a calculatingly angry smile.

 

“Oh, you liked that, did you?” she remarked, her voice trembling slightly with increased rage. “Having me all chained up and at your mercy? That’s your idea of a good time, Spike? Do you have any idea how *sick* that is?” she spat out the last words at him, shaking him forcefully as she did.

 

“No!” he objected hurriedly, his hands held up in front of him defensively in the universal gesture for “wait”. “I mean yes! I mean -- no, that’s not what I wanted at all! I just wanted you to listen to me…”

 

“Right,” Buffy sneered, clearly skeptical. “Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t getting off on it…”

 

Spike shrugged again, averting his eyes as he insisted, “I wasn’t! Beautiful woman all chained up and helpless to prevent whatever I might decide to do to her – not exactly my cup of tea, love.”

 

She raised an eyebrow pointedly – her incredulous expression making it very clear to him just how completely unconvincing his words were.

 

“Honest, love!” Spike insisted vehemently, meeting her gaze with an earnest, pleading look. “Ask anyone! I’ve never been one to go for that sort of thing. Like my girls with the freedom to have a little fight in ‘em, I do,” he went on, lowering his gaze, his lips almost pouting as he added softly, “If anything, I’d say I…”

 

Suddenly, he stopped, wide, alarmed blue eyes raised to hers again with a trapped, startled expression at what he had almost let slip out.

 

Suspicious, Buffy moved in closer to him, her piercing emerald eyes trying to catch his gaze. “What?” she demanded. “What were you going to say?”

 

“Nothing!” he replied in a trembling, defensive voice, refusing to look at her, as he made a desperate attempt to twist out of her grip, at the same time side-stepping slightly in an attempt to get around her.

 

The Slayer swiftly, easily, caught his hip and slammed him back against the wall, hard, edging nearer to him as she did so. “Answer me,” she ordered, her voice low and warning as she grabbed his wrists in her hands and held them to the wall, pressing her body in closer against him, allowing no room for escape.

 

The vampire leaned his head back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes as he stifled a low groan – and suddenly, Buffy’s eyes went wide, as she realized that the sound he had just made did not really sound all that much like a sound of pain.

 

The physical evidence of a much different feeling on Spike’s part began to press against her stomach – and Buffy froze, feeling a funny little tickle building in her stomach at the contact.

 

She tried to convince herself that it was nausea – disgust – nothing else…

 

She couldn’t quite.

 

The silence grew between them, as she tried to manage her shock, and Spike realized what had just happened. After a long, tense moment, he finally dared to open his eyes again – and was amazed by the unexpected look in the Slayer’s stunned green eyes – a look of pure, unadulterated lust. Her eyes narrowed slightly in a way that was almost predatory, and Spike felt her hands on his wrists tighten slightly…

 

Just before she suddenly let him go with a shocked little sound of disgust, taking a step back away from him and staring at him with something akin to horror in her eyes.

 

And Spike’s heart sank with disappointment.

 

But he knew that he *had* seen it there – that brief flash of desire in her eyes, before she had managed to hide it. She had wanted him – if only for a moment; his desire for her, her power over him, had awakened a primal desire within the Slayer that she was now desperately trying to keep him from seeing.

 

But he had already seen it.

 

And he had longed for such a moment for far too long to let it go without a fight.

 

“Oh, no!” he objected, his voice quickly becoming heated as he moved away from the wall and toward her, refusing to allow her to maintain the distance she had put between them. “No, Buffy, don’t try to act like it’s so bloody disgusting! Because – vampire, here – and you can’t exactly hide the way you *really* feel about it from me!”

 

It took Buffy a moment to realize what he was talking about – and when she did, she felt her anger flaring up in a defensive reaction against the embarrassment of knowing that his enhanced vampire sense of smell had revealed her arousal to him. She was still shocked by the fact of the arousal she felt, not only at the rush of the power she held over him – but at the knowledge that *he* was aroused by her power as well.

 

She knew that she should obey her initial impulse, and turn and walk away right that moment.

 

Get out, before things could get any more – complicated.

 

So – why was she now stalking slowly *toward* him, instead?

 

“You think you know me so well -- *Spikey*?” she smirked as she used the silly nickname she had heard Harmony use only minutes earlier, her eyes dancing with amusement at Spike’s visible cringe when he heard it. “I just – might – surprise you…”

 

As she spoke, she suddenly placed both hands on his chest and shoved him back against the wall again, running her hands down his chest in a teasingly possessive gesture, which nevertheless was strong enough to hold him there against the wall. Spike gasped with pleasure at the sensation of her warm, restraining touch, closing his eyes, resistance the farthest thing from his mind – and then he let out a low, dark chuckle of amusement.

 

“You just might surprise *yourself*, love…” he remarked, a bit breathlessly.

 

“I know *you’re* surprising me,” Buffy smirked, her eyebrows raised speculatively. “I never would have figured you for this type…”

 

Spike frowned, struggling to focus on her words, moving slightly forward as if to move away from the wall, as the mocking note of her voice registered with him. “What type?” he asked a bit defensively.

 

Instead of answering his question, the Slayer allowed her smile to fade into a dark, lethal expression as she pushed him forcefully back again, then boldly reached her hand down to firmly grasp his burgeoning erection through his jeans, squeezing just slightly harder than was comfortable.

 

“*Don’t* move again,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

 

She was only slightly surprised to feel his member swelling under her firm touch, to hear his soft groan of pleasure in response to her authoritative tone and strong grip. She released him then, allowing her fingers to brush lightly against the underside of his erection in a casual caress, as she took a step backward, crossing her arms over her chest with a smirk.

 

“*That* type,” she replied finally.

 

 The dizzying haze of pleasure from her touch slowly faded away, and Spike looked at her, a look of indignation – and a little bit of alarm – showing in his eyes, as it suddenly occurred to him that for the Slayer to know that the Big Bad was turned on by being dominated *might* not be the best thing – not while he was chipped and helpless to prevent anything she might decide to do to him.

 

“Wait – you’ve got it all wrong, Slayer…” he insisted, moving away from the wall again, edging toward her – or possibly the door.

 

Without saying a word, or allowing him to finish, Buffy sprang forward again, catching his wrists and forcing him back against the wall. Determined to prove her wrong, Spike struggled – briefly. The moment that he managed to accidentally hurt her in his struggles, his chip sent out a sharp jolt of pain that immediately stopped his efforts, allowing Buffy to pin his wrists above his head, held firmly in one of her hands.

 

Her other hand was -- busy.

 

Spike could not help the moan of mingled pleasure and pain that left his lips as Buffy boldly unzipped his jeans, reaching inside them to take his manhood in her hand – and put her former grip to shame.

 a

“I’m fairly certain I said ‘don’t move’,” she smiled sweetly up at him as she tightened her hold until it bordered on actually painful. “Don’t make me have to punish you, Spikey…”

 

The unmistakable jerk of his member in her hand in reaction to her low, sultry words was all the proof she needed that her theory about him was correct.

 

“This is funny,” she crowed with a delighted laugh. “You were all chaining me up like this Big Bad vampire, about to have your way with me – and all the time…you were just…*wishing*…” Her voice softened as she leaned in close to his ear, and whispered enticingly, “…that it was *you* in the chains instead of me…”

 

“No…no,” Spike insisted in a thoroughly unconvincing whisper that was breathless and trembling with need. And then, when she just slightly increased the pressure she was applying, he confessed, “Yes…bloody hell, *yes*, Buffy, please…”

 

The soft, dark little chuckle that left Buffy’s lips only served to heighten his desire for her, as she pumped her hand a couple of times around him, and he felt his legs weaken beneath him. Buffy released his wrists, and he pressed his palms hard against the wall to hold himself up – instinctively knowing that if he dared to touch her – whatever spell had her doing these things, touching him like this…would immediately be broken.

 

Spike was so caught up in the sensations she was creating in him, so lost in the pleasure of her touch, that he was easily led as she gripped his black leather belt with her non-busy hand, and pulled him the few yards to the chains that had bound her earlier – never letting up her attentions to his throbbing member.

 

He was barely even aware of it, as she locked the chains around his wrists, tugging at them to be sure that they were secure – all one-handed. He could barely believe that this was really happening, that she was really touching him, in spite of all his mistakes this very night, his misguided attempts to win her affections -- in spite of everything…

 

That thought should have led to his first inkling that something might not be quite right with this picture.

 

But at the moment – he really couldn’t have cared less…because she was touching him.

 

Unfortunately, it was not to last.

 

As soon as his wrists were locked securely in the chains, Buffy withdrew her hand from his open jeans – and with it his fully erect member. She giggled wickedly as she stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and observing her work.

 

“Buffy? What…?”

 

“Since you like bondage so much, Spike – I hope you enjoy it. Have fun,” she smirked, turning and heading toward the ladder again, this time at a calm, leisurely pace.

 

“Hey! Wait just a second!” Spike objected, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t bloody well just *leave* me here like this…”

 

“Actually…I can,” Buffy corrected him without turning around.  
  
"Hey! *Stop*!" he nearly shouted at her, rage mingling with fear in his voice. "You'd better bloody well stop right there, Slayer, or I'll..."  
  
She turned at that, emerald eyes blazing with triumph and irritation and something else that he dared not even attempt to name right then. "You'll stand there in chains with you dick hanging out of your pants -- looking like a total moron -- and yell at me," she finished for him, a derisive smirk on her face. "Oooh -- I'm *so* scared!"  
  
And with that, she turned and started up the ladder.  
  
"Slayer!" Spike yelled after her.  
  
She did not stop -- did not even look back.  
  
"*Buffy*!"  
  
But Buffy was already on the upper level and halfway to the door -- desperate to get out of there before the incredibly, annoyingly perceptive vampire managed to figure out just how badly shaken she was herself by the encounter.  
  
"It was just to prove a point," she muttered to herself as she slammed the crypt door shut behind her. "It didn't mean anything...I didn't *feel* anything..."  
  
Her attempt to convince herself was futile, as she stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with shock and horror at the realization that was swiftly becoming clear to her.  
  
"Oh no," she whimpered, "what's wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way -- about *Spike*? And -- not just Spike -- but..."  
  
Her mind flashed back to the image of the blonde vampire, bound in chains and practically begging for her touch -- his hard, sculpted arms taut against his restraints as he gasped with need and thrust his body into her hand. The sheer power of his desire for her -- the ability she had to make him want her so desperately -- the thought of his belonging to *her*, and no one else...  
  
"*No*!" she berated herself aloud. "No, Buffy, you can *not* be thinking these things! Spike is -- well -- he's *Spike*! You can't be wanting to -- to tie him up and have your way with him! He's *Spike*, for Pete's sake! You shouldn't want to do anything but stake him! You're the Slayer, so act like it!"  
  
And yet -- despite the voice of reason that told her that she should stay away -- something inside her quietly, almost subconsciously, kept insisting that those thoughts -- those desires -- were as it should be. Spike had been undeniably turned on by her power, her dominance of him a few minutes before, and she knew that it should be repulsive to her...  
  
...but it wasn't.  
  
Truth be told -- she wasn't sure at the moment which of them wanted it more -- her or Spike.  
  
She stopped for a moment, standing still a few feet from the gates of Restfield, and tried to gather her thoughts. Amidst all the rambling confusion that was her mind at the moment, one fact kept circling around again and again in her head.  
  
*I have *got* to find out what is wrong with me!*  
  
                              **********************************

 

Buffy spent most of the next morning holed away on the usually deserted second level of the Magic Box, where all the more dangerous, valuable books were kept. Once Anya let her in a few minutes after the shop opened, she quietly disappeared up the stairs, found the books she wanted, and retreated to a quiet corner.

 

Anya just assumed that she must have left while she was seeing to a customer – and no one even knew she was there.

 

*After all,* she thought ruefully. *Studying is kind of an anti-Buffy thing to do.*

 

But today – she had something important to figure out.

 

She had every book she could find that had any reference to ancient Slayers -- their powers, their specific traits -- piled in front of her, searching for anything…even the slightest clue…that might explain her recent and very disturbing feelings toward Spike.

 

*I’m the freakin’ Slayer,* she thought as she scanned through another apparently useless passage. *I should *hate* him – not want to – to do those things to him…there has to be some explanation – this just can’t be *me*…*

 

When all the books she had in front of her proved to be useless, Buffy tossed them aside, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes in a frustrated gesture, giving the half-empty bookshelf beside her a resentful look. Suddenly, a spark of interest began in her eyes, as she caught sight of an old, leather bound book partially hidden behind the other volumes on the shelf of books pertaining to the Slayer.

 

She frowned, intrigued, as she reached over and carefully pulled it out from behind the other books. Getting a closer look at it, she could easily see that it was a hand-bound book, not having the professional, finished sort of look to it that the other books had. She opened the cover, stopping at the first, hand-typed page – the title page.

 

*The True Nature and History of the Slayer*.

 

“Hmm,” Buffy mused, a single eyebrow going up in suspicion. “So – all the rest of these are the *untrue* history and nature of me? *That* can’t be good…”

 

Her eyes widened as she looked a little further, and found the author’s name.

 

*Giles? *My* Giles?* she thought with disbelief. *Wrote a book?* She paused, as she turned to the first page, shaking her head with mild amusement. *And -- *why* exactly should that surprise me again?*

 

The amusement quickly faded as she became immersed in the startling words on the page. Observations her Watcher had made of unsettling moments in her own career as the Slayer – times when she had seemed to take a bit more pleasure than necessary in the slaying – her relationship with Angel – jumped out at her, and she felt her face flush with embarrassment at the intimate details of her life, printed here for anyone to see.

 

*I so hope he hasn’t shown this to anyone,* she thought with alarm at the idea.

 

She was relieved to find that after the first couple of chapters, the book no longer seemed to be solely about her. Instead, she found a collection of stories, events in the lives of other Slayers, that had apparently been recounted to Giles by their Watchers – incident after incident that began to place a vaguely unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

Throughout the book, two themes repeated over and over – each Slayer mentioned seemed to take a sort of dark pleasure in her power…and each Slayer had had at least one vampire lover. Even more disturbing to Buffy than that, was the insinuation in the text that the two facets of the Slayer’s “true nature” seemed to be intertwined.

 

Why, several of the Slayers mentioned had openly reveled in the power discrepancy, their control over their vampire lovers – taking pride in keeping them like – like some kind of pet!

 

Buffy was stunned by the sudden rush of arousal she felt as the image filled her mind again, of the blonde vampire in the crypt across town, still chained – helpless – waiting for her…

 

*But Spike would die before he’d let me…*

 

She cut off the thought abruptly, her eyes widening with alarm as she realized what she had been allowing herself to consider.

 

*No…no, Buffy, that’s so wrong!* she berated herself, feeling her face flush with shame, though no one but her was around to know of her fleeting fantasies.

 

She read on, finding Giles’ observations in the concluding chapters – how he had noticed that these girls who had done the things he had described tended to live longer than other Slayers – how he had come to the conclusion that it was natural for a Slayer to have that touch of darkness in her, and perhaps even healthy for her to find such an outlet for it as the mentioned girls had.

 

*I cannot say that I would be pleased to have Buffy take up with another vampire,* the type-written text read in the conclusion. *However if it would serve to make her a more powerful Slayer, and therefore extend her life, perhaps it would be worth it. The signs are already apparent that she is one of the few chosen girls who are naturally a bit more in tune with this darkness than others…*

 

Her heart racing with the implications of what her Watcher had written, Buffy turned the last few pages ahead in the book, pausing when she found a handwritten page, folded and tucked into the back of the book. Unfolding it, she frowned in concentration as she tried to make sense of the tiny writing, which was difficult, considering that the first word was terribly long, and apparently not in English.

 

Probably not even in *human*.

 

But the description that followed the word identified it as a very powerful magical drug, designed to make a person highly suggestible to someone else's commands. The handwritten description said that it would not completely take away the will of the person who took the drug, but it would make it very difficult for them to resist the compulsion to obey. The person who took it would be all but completely under the control of the person who gave it to them.  
  
*Like -- like a pet...* Buffy realized with a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, a combination of horror -- and desire.  
  
Following the description on the paper was an address, one that Buffy recognized as being in a not particularly safe part of town.

 

The possibilities of such a thing flooded her mind, as she raised her wide eyes from the book, her heart pounding with a sudden rush of desire.

 

*Maybe – maybe this is why – maybe I’m *supposed* to…*

 

*No, Buffy – you shouldn’t do this…you shouldn’t *want* to do this…*

 

And yet – she did.

 

Despite her silent reprimands to herself, her well-intentioned mental lecture, she found herself rising from her seat on the floor and replacing the books, all the while her thoughts focused on one thing.

 

Getting that magical drug on the piece of paper – and getting to Spike.

 

***************************************

 

By the time Buffy returned to Spike’s crypt a few hours later, she had talked herself out of, and back into, what she was going to do – several times. But when she made her way down the ladder at last, her mind was made up.

 

Spike had been drifting in and out of a haze of partial sleep, despite his enforced standing position – but at the sound of her footsteps descending the ladder, he immediately came fully awake. When she turned around to face him, he was glaring at her resentfully.

 

“ ‘Bout bloody time you came back, Slayer!” he snarled at her – but thirst and exhaustion made his voice weak and raspy.

 

“Awww – didja miss me?” Buffy replied cheekily, taking her sweet time as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying seductively.

 

“Like I miss being human,” he retorted sarcastically, and then clarified emphatically, as if she was too stupid to catch the sarcasm, “*No*! Just get over here and get these soddin’ chains off, *now*!”

 

The Slayer’s low chuckle of amusement sent a shiver down Spike’s back, in spite of himself, as she slowly walked around behind him before replying in a slow, casually mocking voice.

 

“No – I don’t think so, Spikey…”

 

As she spoke, she moved in close behind him, and he flinched slightly, not sure what to expect from her at this point, the way she was acting at the moment. He had thought that he knew her well, that he could have predicted her actions, her responses.

 

 But he *never* would have thought that she would have left him there the night before.

 

She had caught him off guard – just as she did again when she suddenly reached around him, her body pressing against his back as her strong hand closed around his still erect member firmly.

 

“I’m not quite through with you yet,” she informed him softly, her warm breath tickling his ear, and sending a delicious little shudder down his spine as he unintentionally thrust into her hand.

 

“Wow,” she murmured, sounding surprised – and impressed. “All night – and you’re still hard…for me?”

 

Drawing in a sharp gasp of air, Spike leaned his head back, his eyes closed, as she slowly worked his throbbing erection, driving him to even greater heights of need with her touch.

 

“I *told* you – you’re all I – bloody well think about,” Spike struggled to get the words out as she tightened her hold, tugging slightly forward, and he pulled uselessly against the chains that held him.

 

Almost despite herself, Buffy felt a certain softening within her toward the vampire – and she wondered why she had never seen him in this light before. In all her years as the Slayer, he was the only opponent she had ever fought that she had never managed to truly defeat.

 

Now – she found herself wondering if there had been a reason for that, all along.

 

*He was meant to be mine…*

 

Still – she could not quite bring herself to respond to his vulnerable, almost shyly spoken admission with the softness that she felt.

 

“You like this?” she murmured, raising her free hand to tangle in his hair and jerk his head backward, smiling at the little hiss that left his lips at the mixed sensations of pleasure and pain. “My hands on you? Being chained up and at my mercy – me, having the power to touch you – any way I want…turns you on…doesn’t it, Spike?”

 

He did not respond at first – and Buffy knew by the stubborn set of his jaw that while his desire for her was no secret to anyone, his pride would not let the Big Bad in him admit to his underlying need to be dominated by her – to *belong* to her…

 

Her hand on his manhood became a vise, just on the edge of painful – and he choked back a startled cry as she slid her other arm around his waist in a possessive gesture, and whispered in his ear, “*Doesn’t it*?”

 

He turned his head away from her, biting down on his lower lip in a valiant attempt to retain what he thought was the last shreds of his pride.

 

He was wrong.

 

Spike still had a *lot* of pride left to lose – and Buffy was going to enjoy every moment of taking it from him.

 

Abruptly, she released him completely, stepping back away from him and moving slowly back around in front of him, as she strolled idly across the room toward the small refrigerator he kept there to keep his blood and alcohol cool. She smiled, but did not turn around or otherwise acknowledge the needy, strangled little sound that left his mouth against his will, at the sudden loss of her touch.

 

She could hear his heavy breathing behind her as he struggled to recover, as she took a bag of blood from the refrigerator, tore it open, and poured it into a large mug.

 

She had to suppress a laugh when she heard him mutter in a voice of subdued resentment, “Bloody bitch.”

 

“You don’t mean that,” she replied in a soft, patronizing voice, as, outside of Spike’s line of vision, she emptied a tiny plastic packet of the instantly dissolving, colorless, tasteless magical drug that would make him hers to command.

 

Well – more so than he already was.

 

Spike was completely silent, waiting for her to put the mug in his microwave and start it heating, then turn around to face him, before retorting in a flat, deadly serious tone of voice.

 

“Yes. I really do.”

 

Buffy shrugged, obviously unaffected by his words, as she took the mug from the microwave and again moved toward him with an almost predatory smile.

 

“But you know you love it,” she reminded him in a low, sultry voice, as she raised the mug to his lips.

 

He jerked his head away, glaring at her defiantly as he refused to drink from the blood she had prepared for him.

 

“Oh, come on, now, Spike,” she chided him. “Quit pouting. You know you’re hungry. It’s been a long time since whatever poor unfortunate person you and Dru ate yesterday.”

 

His eyes shot up to hers, wide and full of a trapped expression.

 

She just smiled, disarmingly, as she held out the mug to him again, enticingly.

 

*But we are *so* going to talk about that, once he has no choice but to listen!*

 

“Come on,” she urged him, her voice low, sultry and inviting. “You know you want it…go ahead and drink…”

 

“You’ll chain me up in my own home, but then you start preparing my meals for me?” Spike’s voice was incredulous, and a bit derisive – but neither tone managed to mask the slight note of nervousness that had crept into his voice. “You are so bloody messed up, Slayer.”

 

“Maybe,” she shrugged dismissively. “But it’s just a little gesture of good will…”

 

“A gesture of good will would be to let me out of these chains!”

 

“I will,” she promised, those two words drawing his uncertain gaze back to hers. “If you be a good vampire and eat your supper…”

 

The taunting sound of her voice was almost enough to make him refuse again – but he really was *very* hungry. It had been nearly 48 hours since Dru had killed that girl in the Bronze and given her to him – and nothing smelled or looked off about the blood in the Slayer’s hand.

 

“Right, then,” he sighed, turning back to face her with a defeated roll of his eyes. “Just you don’t be lying to me, Slayer – you said if I drink it…”

 

“I’ll take the chains off,” she finished for him, a bit impatiently, though her teasing smile never slipped. “Promise. Okay – here you go…”

 

Carefully, she tilted the cup upward, allowing the warm fluid to flow into his mouth, and he drank it down quickly, grateful for the nourishment he had been craving, and more than ready to be out of the chains that bound him.

 

Once the mug was empty, Buffy set it aside, and took the key to the chains from the pocket of her jeans – while Spike tried to figure out why that particular bag of pig’s blood tasted even better to him than the fresh human blood he had had the night before…and why he was starting to feel a little faint and unsteady on his feet. When Buffy removed the jeans, he staggered forward a step or two, narrowly regaining his balance – and then, just like that, the hazy feeling faded away.

 

“What’s the matter?” Buffy asked him mildly, standing there in front of him, watching him closely with an odd little smile.

 

“I – I just – felt a bit off, that’s all,” he replied, frowning with confusion as he studied her strange expression. “Must have something to do with staying up all night on my feet in my own *bleedin’ chains*!” he pointedly suggested, his voice rising with the last few words.

 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Buffy snapped, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice.

 

Spike opened his mouth to retort that he would bloody well talk to her anyway he bloody well chose – but somehow…the words would not come out. Instead, what did come out was, “Yes, Buffy…”

 

“Mistress.”

 

His eyes widened as he stared at her in stunned outrage. “I don’t bloody think…”

 

“Say ‘Yes, Mistress’,” Buffy instructed firmly, her voice almost frighteningly calm.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied without hesitation – then stared at her in horror as he realized what he had done.

 

The satisfied smirk on the Slayer’s face as she glanced at the discarded, empty mug told Spike all he needed to know. His voice came out in a hushed, horrified whisper, as he asked her, “What did you do to me?”

 

Buffy ignored his question, her eyes sparkling with an almost frightening light, and at the same time, darkened with lust, as she ordered softly, “Take off your clothes.”

 

Spike opened his mouth to object, even as his trembling fingers moved to unbutton his shirt – but his question was silenced before it began.

 

“…without talking,” Buffy added, a wicked sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

 

Spike silently cursed his traitorous body, which was responding to the sultry sound of her voice, to the seductive suggestion of her command. He was confused, and angry, and scared to a second death – and yet – he wanted her, desperately…found himself undeniably aroused by her commanding, authoritative manner, and the unapologetic, wanton lust in her eyes as she boldly watched him disrobe.

 

Before he even had time to begin to formulate some kind of theory as to what exactly she had done to him, Buffy began to explain.

 

“You’re mine, Spike,” she declared calmly, pacing slowly toward him with the easy grace of the predator that she was, her arms crossed over her chest as she met his eyes with a slight smile. “You…belong…to me.”

 

He opened his mouth to refute her words, but found himself actually unable to respond. Instinctively he took a step backward as she neared him.

 

“Don’t move,” she ordered softly – and he found that he could not.

 

“Don’t even try to deny it,” she continued, circling him slowly, one hand trailing across his stomach and side in a lazy caress. “You know you are – you know you have been…for a long time now. I’ve just decided to make it official.”


	2. Chapter 2

His wide blue eyes followed her warily, until she moved behind him and he could no longer see her.

 

But he could *feel* her.

 

She ran her hands slowly down his hips from behind him, edging enticingly near to his aching erection – but not quite touching him.

 

“I’ve been doing a little research this afternoon, Spike, while you were here waiting for me to decide to let you out of those chains – and I’ve found out some very interesting things – about the Slayer – about *myself*…Did you know…that the most powerful Slayers recorded in history – all seemed to have one seemingly insignificant detail in common?”

 

He could not respond – could not have even had she allowed him to speak, because of the ever strengthening physical need that was gradually consuming him. It didn’t matter that she was holding him a virtual prisoner in his own body – that she had performed some sort of magic to place him under her control…

 

*Just who are you soddin’ kidding, mate? You were already under her control!*

 

He *wanted* her. *Needed* her – desperately.

 

Still – her next words held enough of a shock to jar him momentarily out of the haze of need that was coming over him.

 

“They all had a tendency to go for vampires – like I apparently do – and they all had their very own…tamed…vampire…*pet*!”

 

When Buffy took her hands off of him and moved around in front of him to face him with a bright, expectant smile, Spike’s alarm at what she had said was almost outweighed by his body’s protest at the lack of contact with her.

 

Still, he managed to shake his head emphatically in denial of her words.

 

*No,* he insisted in his mind. *No – I’m nobody’s pet!*

 

But then – why did the idea seem to drive his arousal even further toward an almost unbearable pitch?

 

“Oh, please!” Buffy dismissed his denial, edging in nearer to him again, one hand resting on his hip and pulling him closer to her, while her other hand slid between them, her thumb applying a slow circular pressure around the head of his erection. “Don’t tell me that’s not what you want!”

 

Of course – he didn’t.

 

Buffy rolled her eyes, remembering his predicament, and said a bit impatiently, “Okay, whatever, you can talk.”

 

“I – I – don’t…” Spike couldn’t seem to get the words out, as she intensified the pressure she was exerting with her expert fingers.

 

“Spike – don’t bother,” Buffy cut him off, slipping her hand down from his hip to cup one side of his pale, firm bum, giving it a light squeeze that elicited a low groan from the vampire’s lips. “I know you! And I’ve figured it out – I just can’t believe it took me so long!”

 

Her hands continued their slow exploration of his body, as she lowered her voice, drawing in close to his ear to go on, “All this time – I was so freaked out – thinking that you wanted me – to have me – to *own* me – because, hello? Vampire – can’t really love. So if you wanted me, that’d have to be what you wanted – right?”

 

“I *do* love you,” he argued weakly, his eyes drifting closed, as forming an actual coherent thought seemed to be becoming more and more difficult.

 

“Hush,” she warned him sternly, before going on with a soft little laugh, “I was so wrong. What you really wanted wasn’t to make me yours. It was – to be *mine*. It should have been obvious – you followed Drusilla around for a hundred years, catering to her every whim, even when she was an insane, lying, cheating little ho bag!”

 

Spike flinched slightly, though he couldn’t have told whether it was from the painful truth of her words – or the hard note of possessive anger in her voice.

 

Buffy’s face broke into a soft smile, as she drew in even closer to him and added in a hushed whisper against his ear, “But not anymore. You proved it tonight. You *know* -- she’s not what you need. *I* am. You say you love me, Spike – I’m all you think about – do you know *why* that is?”

 

Her soft touch and softer voice, in combination with whatever mystical drug she had given him, making its way through his system, had Spike drifting into a state of mesmerized euphoria, where nothing existed for him but her voice, her hands -- *her*.

 

She was right.

 

Bloody hell, she was *right*!

 

He was *hers*.

 

He shook his head weakly in response to her question.

 

“Because,” she answered softly, “I know what it is that you really need, Spike. I know how to be strong enough for you – how to handle you. I’m a powerful woman, and I like to be in control. Angel couldn’t handle that – Riley couldn’t handle that – but you can – can’t you, Spike? It’s what you want – what you need – isn’t it, Baby?”

 

He shook his head in desperate denial, though the movement was slow and uncertain.

 

“Okay,” Buffy spoke the single word calmly, thoughtfully, as she stepped back for a moment to regard him appraisingly – and Spike opened his eyes with an effort, unable to disguise the need that was clearly visible there. “You can talk all you want – move all you want…” the Slayer declared with a careless little shrug.

 

Spike felt the tension of restraint gradually easing from his body – but had no time to react before the Slayer had grabbed him and pushed him forcefully back against the wall, her searching mouth attacking his in an intense, hungry kiss – which he found himself returning, almost in spite of himself.

 

Buffy drew back to meet his eyes again, her own glittering and dark with desire. “Make me stop,” she challenged him in a breathless whisper. “If you want to…” And she moved in on him again, her hands running over his body almost frantically as her tongue invaded his mouth.

 

And he did not make her stop.  He did not even try.

 

Spike returned her kiss, leaning forward away from the wall and moving to put his arms around her – until she caught his wrists, pressing him back against the wall again. Her lips left his as she gave him a wicked smile, then lowered them to his throat, nipping just slightly at the sensitive skin there in a subtle imitation of what his own bite might have been like.

 

He felt her smile against his skin as his cock pressed harder against her in response to the dominant, possessive move.

 

“You want this,” she murmured between kisses, thrilling to the way he responded to her touch. “You want to be mine – and I want you – so much – I can make this – so good for you, Spike…” As she spoke, lavishing kisses on his throat, his chest, as she made her case, her hand slipped down to close around his weeping, desperate erection. “I can make you -- *love* being mine…*my* vampire…my pet…”

 

He let out a low, pleading moan, though neither one of them really knew whether it was her touch or her words that drew the sound from him. Buffy drew back to meet his eyes again, her breath nearly stolen away by the expression of mingled shock and pleasure in his shining blue eyes.

 

“I can do this, Spike – whether or not you want me to,” she informed him in a soft, serious voice – and then she tightened her hold on his member, then dragged her fist slowly downward, causing the vampire to close his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall behind him with a sharp gasp at the sensation.

 

She leaned in close to his ear and whispered intently, earnestly, “But I *want* you to want it, Spike…I know you do…and I won’t…*won’t* force you…tell me, Spike…tell me…what…you…want…”

 

He could not seem to formulate a response, as she released her hold on his erection, dragging a single finger slowly along the underside, turning her finger at the last second to just barely scrape his skin with her fingernail.

 

The sharp, strangled little cry that Spike tried to hold back told her all she needed to know, as she stepped back away from him, all at once not touching him at all – until he moved forward in a thoughtless frenzy of need to attempt to pull her into his arms. The Slayer caught his arms, pinning them firmly over his head, as she leaned in close to his face, yet kept her body held away from him, holding back the contact he was desperate for by this point.

 

“Please…bloody hell, Buffy, please…” he gasped out, his longing manhood thrusting into nothing.

 

“Please what, Spike?” she pressed him, an odd gentleness to her voice. “Tell me what you want…”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, breathing hard, aware in spite of his position that this question required more than the simple answer it appeared to.

 

“Yes or no, Spike,” Buffy whispered intently, her wide jade-darkened gaze searching his face. “I can make you mine – yes or no?”

 

“Please…” Spike gasped out, his eyes closed, his lips parted and trembling with his need for her. “Please, Buffy…*yes*, Buffy, *yes*, please!”

 

A pleased look of triumph, tempered with just a hint of affection, came into Buffy’s eyes, as she seemed to relent, lowering one of her hands to fist around his erection again, pumping it a couple of times, and drawing another desperate moan of pleasure from his lips.

 

“Yes, Buffy,” Spike gasped out. “Yes, please, Buffy, yes…”

 

“Mistress,” she corrected him in a voice that was somehow soft and hard at the same time.

 

“Mistress,” he repeated, his back arching, thrusting his member toward her as she released him and trailed her fingertips slowly around the tip of his erection, driving him to the very edge of ecstasy…

 

And then – she suddenly withdrew her hand completely.

 

Before he even had time to register the loss, she had reached into her pocket and taken out a small strip of rough leather with a tiny buckle on one end – which she promptly wrapped around the base of his erection, pulling it tight and latching the buckle with one swift, fluid motion.

 

Spike stared at her in shock, then down at the leather cock ring she had just put on him – leaving him mere moments from his climax…and then denying him.

 

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You can’t be bloody serious…”

 

“Shhh,” she cut him off, suddenly gripping his hair and jerking his head back hard – and he was quiet, waiting for her next words – which were not long in coming.

 

“Get on your knees.”

 

Immediately he obeyed, looking up at her with anxious, longing eyes. There was a certain measure of fear, yes, in being so helpless, at her whim; but there was a part of him, deep down – the same part of him that had openly submitted to her desire to make him her pet – that felt reassured in the fact that he was truly hers…and where he was supposed to be.

 

“You’ve been a very bad vampire, Spike,” Buffy informed him, walking around behind him again, and he turned his head to follow her as far as he could. Once she was out of his sight, she crouched down behind him, laying a possessive hand across his throat and tilting his head backward against her. “I’m gonna have to take you in line, Baby – teach you to behave yourself…”

 

In the next moment she stood up – and with another lightning quick motion, Spike found himself sporting a black leather collar to match the ring around his cock – and like that other ring, it was a bit tighter than was comfortable.

 

“I don’t bloody well think…” he began to object, silenced by a sudden jerk on the leash that he had not realized was attached to the collar.

 

“You don’t talk,” she informed him imperiously, wrapping the leather around her fist until it was taut, leaving him no room to move away as she crouched down behind him again, “unless I say that you can talk. Is that clear?”

 

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding his acceptance.

 

It was not as if he had a choice, really.

 

He had already made his choice.

 

“Did you sleep with her?”

 

Spike turned his head to look at her in surprise, but she jerked the leash tighter, nudging his back with her knee in an unspoken order to turn around. It took him a moment to figure out just what she was asking – and then he remembered…the whole reason why this whole thing had started in the first place.

 

Dru.

 

“No,” he assured her softly, not even trying to conceal his hurt at the question. “No, Buffy, I love you – I wouldn’t…”

 

“She said you’d been feeding,” she cut him off, moving in closer to him and wrapping an arm around him, trailing her fingertips lightly down his chest, circling one of them around one taut nipple as she went on, “Now how exactly is that possible…considering that little doodad in your head, Spike?"  
  
A little thrill of fear went through him at the subtle threat in her words, combining with the pleasurable sensations she was creating with her hand on his chest, and he barely managed to get out his reply in a slightly trembling voice, "I -- I didn't -- I mean -- I didn't actually..."  
  
As he attempted to explain, the Slayer rose to her feet behind him, and moved slowly around to look down at him expectantly. Another jerk on his leash silenced him, as she gave a dismissive shrug and remarked, "Doesn't matter. Because it won't be happening again..." She reached a hand down to tilt his chin up,  forcing him to meet her gaze. "Will it, Spike?"  
  
He swallowed hard, then shook his head solemnly, bravely holding her gaze.  
  
Her hand under his chin gentled into an affectionate caress up the side of his face. "Good boy," she replied softly. "Because I'd really hate to have to punish you, Spike."  
  
His painfully restrained erection throbbed with the suggestion behind her words.  
  
"Well," she amended with a smirk, as she noticed his obvious discomfort, "any more than I already am, anyway..."  
  
"Bu -- Mistress -- Mistress, please!" Spike found himself openly begging for the release she had all but brought him to. "Please, I need..."  
  
  


"What you *need*," she snapped, jerking the leash taut so that he could not finish, "is to keep your mouth shut while I'm talking! Understood?"  
  
Spike hurriedly nodded, and she gave him back the slack in the chain that she had taken from him. He lowered his head in submission, obediently waiting for her to go on -- and Buffy could not help but soften to him.  
  
The Slayer crouched down in front of him, gently tilting his face up to look her in the eye again, as she allowed the leash to drop to the ground. Placing a gentle but firm hand at the back of his neck, she drew him in close and kissed him, tenderly, thoroughly, before pulling back to give him a reassuring smile.  
  
"I know what you need, Spike," she assured him, her free hand reaching down to lightly stroke his rock solid, aching member, in a teasingly light touch that only served to make his situation that much more desperate. "And I'm going to be sure that you get it," she promised.  
  
Before he could even begin to feel relief at her words, she added, "But what you need first of all -- is to know beyond all doubt who is in control here. Who is the Mistress -- and who is the pet. Do you understand?"  
  
Spike opened his mouth as if to say something else in his own defense -- and then thought better of it. He nodded dutifully, his eyes downcast again as she took her hands off him and stood up straight again, the leash in her hand again.  
  
"Good," she nodded, satisfied. "You belong to me, Spike," she repeated firmly. "You're mine -- and your first concern should always be *my* pleasure...is that clear?"  
  
Spike nodded again as she moved closer to him, her free hand trailing slowly up her own thigh, raising the short red leather skirt she wore with her hand -- and revealing to him two things -- the undeniably strong fragrance of her arousal; and the fact that she wore nothing at all under the skirt.  
  
Spike's erection became even more uncomfortable as she jerked him closer to her by the leash.

 

“Do a good job, Baby – make me happy,” she said softly, pulling her skirt up and baring herself to him, “and *maybe* I’ll decide to let you come, too.”

 

Spike needed no further encouragement.

 

Immediately he buried his face in her sodden center, lapping at her gently at first. Encouraged by her soft moans of pleasure, he became bolder, increasing the pressure of his strokes as he caressed her with his tongue, worshipping her with his mouth.

 

After a moment or two, Buffy dropped the leash entirely, holding his head against her body with both hands as she turned them both around blindly, yet remembering that the reversal would put her back against the wall. She needed the support, or she knew that she was going to end up on the floor.

 

*If I’d had any idea he was this good at this,* she thought through the haze of pleasure that engulfed her, *I’d have done this *years* ago!*

 

“Spike – oh, Spike – mmm – so *good*…” she murmured, throwing her head back, closing her eyes. “Don’t – don’t stop…”

 

As she clutched him tightly to her, filling his senses with the sight, scent, taste of her, Spike found himself thinking that it was a very good thing that he did not need to breathe.

 

But those were not his only senses that were affected by what he was doing.

 

The aching need in his groin was swiftly becoming unbearable.

 

He didn’t even realize that his hand had come to rest on his cock, unconsciously seeking some relief from the steadily building pressure – until the Slayer’s body quivered around him, and with a soft cry of completion, she relaxed, releasing his head and slumping back against the wall, gasping as she tried to catch her breath.

 

As he drew slightly away from her, and his vision came back into focus, he suddenly became aware of his own hand on his desperate erection, attempting futilely to bring about the fulfillment that the leather ring she had put on him would not allow. His eyes darted up to her as he jerked his hand away…

 

…too late.

 

The Slayer was smiling down at him, a satiated laziness about her expression – but her eyes were glittering with wicked amusement.

 

“Unh-uh,” she chided him gently, shaking her head in reproof. “Spike – don’t you know that’s mine?”

 

Without warning she grabbed the leash and pulled him roughly to his feet, forcing him to scramble to get up quickly so as to avoid being choked by the lead. Before he knew what was happening, she had reversed their positions, pushing him up against the wall, and wound the leash tightly around a little slab of rock jutting out from it – so tightly that he could not move his head at all.

 

“Did I tell you you could touch yourself, Spike?” she asked him, her voice still soft, yet very dangerous.

 

“N-no, Mistress,” he gasped out the words, barely able to draw breath through the oppressively tight collar around his neck. “I’m sorry…”

 

“Put your hands against the wall over your head and cross your wrists,” she ordered sharply. “And do *not* move unless I tell you to – is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” Spike replied without hesitation as he obeyed her command.

 

Once he was in the position she desired, she drew her body in close to his, her hand reaching down to trail two fingers up and down the length of his weeping erection, almost idly as she spoke.

 

“You’re mine, Spike. That means every part of you is mine. You belong to me. And that means – that you don’t touch yourself, unless I say it’s okay. The only one who can decide whether you get pleasure – or pain – is me. You make me happy – you’ll be *very* happy. You make me mad…” She shrugged slightly, and the warning glimmer in her eyes sent a little shiver down his spine. “Understand?”

 

Spike tried to nod, and found that he could not – so he struggled to choke out the words, “Yes, Mistress.”

 

“Good,” she said, her smile softening as she laid a tender caress along his cheek – and then suddenly dropped to her knees in front of him. She looked up at him through dark, hooded eyes, and murmured in a low, throaty voice of sharp warning, “*Don’t* move…”

 

He tried very hard not to move – but could not help jumping slightly when all at once he found his rock hard member encased in the liquid fire of her mouth. The slight, barely there pressure of her teeth around him stilled his movement instantly, but still, she drew back, crossing her arms as she rocked back on her knees and looked up at him impatiently.

 

“Do you want me to do this or not?” she asked him matter-of-factly.

 

“Yes!” he gasped out. “Yes, please, Mistress, please!”

 

“Okay then…now don’t move,” she repeated firmly, before resuming her work with her mouth – much to Spike’s immense relief.

 

There was only one problem.

 

The leather cock ring was still in place.

 

The expert movements of her mouth on his body, her tongue, teeth and lips driving him to an even greater frenzy, was incredible – but the release that she was making him frantic for would not – could not – happen.

 

Not until *she* decided to let it.

 

After a few agonizingly blissful minutes had passed, Buffy withdrew her mouth from around him, playfully tickling the underside of his erection as she looked up at him questioningly.

 

“You want to come, Spike?” she asked him simply.

 

“Yes – please…” he responded immediately, desperately, his voice raspy with the restraint of the leather collar across his throat.

 

“How bad do you want to come, Spike?” she altered the wording slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she brought her thumb and forefinger together around the tip of his erection and pinched just slightly.

 

The vampire let out a groan that could not be distinguished as ecstasy or agony, as he almost whimpered, “Please – please, I’ll do anything, Mistress…anything you want…anything, just please, please…”

 

“Please what?” she pressed him.

 

“Please let me come!” he gasped out, giving her the words she was seeking.

 

“You know,” she pointed out thoughtfully, as she traced her fingers back up to the base of his erection, sliding one carefully between the leather and his flesh, idly running it back and forth under the ring. “You’re gonna do what I want anyway. You know, what with the whole belonging to me thing…so – that’s not why I’m going to do this for you…”

 

Her voice softened slightly, becoming almost tender as she unbuckled the ring and let it drop to the floor. “I’m going to do this for you, because I told you that I’d make this good for you – make you happy – if you make *me* happy…” She rose upright on her knees, guiding his throbbing, pulsing cock to wait less than an inch from her lips – her soft, warm breath torturing him as she added in a whisper that he could easily hear, “…and you’ve made me *very* happy…”

 

She took him in her mouth once more – and swiftly brought him to completion, swallowing down his cool spendings without hesitation, and then rising to unfasten the leash from where it was bound, and take her new pet into her arms, falling to the ground with him as his legs gave out under him, just holding him close to her and stroking his loose blonde curls back from his face as he gradually recovered from the intensity of his release.

 

When he seemed to be coming back to earth, without a word she gently disentangled herself from his clinging embrace, and walked across the crypt to the bag she had brought with her when she came in, taking out several items of black leather, and tossing them down beside him.

 

Spike looked at them blankly for a moment, confused, then up at her in a question.

 

“Put those on,” Buffy instructed mildly as she went to the refrigerator and took out another bag of blood, poured it into a mug, and then turned around to face him calmly – making no effort to hide what she was doing this time as she poured a second tiny packet of fine powder into the mug and stirred it with a spoon.

 

Her eyes shimmered with a wicked gleam as she smirked at him and explained simply, “We’re going out.”


	3. Chapter 3

Spike stared blankly down at the little pile of black leather on the floor beside him, trying to process the Slayer’s instructions as she stood there facing him, smiling down at him in satisfaction.

 

He was still feeling a little dazed by the force of the intense, intimate encounter he had just had with her. When Drusilla had shown up at his crypt the evening before, he never would have guessed that he would have ended up here.

 

Of course – chaining the Slayer up in his crypt and trying to force her to accept his declaration of love…well – not quite his most brilliant of brilliant plans. Still, he hadn’t thought that at the end of the evening, *he* would be the one bound in his own chains, left there all night to “think about what he had done” he supposed – until he began to wonder if Buffy was ever going to come back for him.

 

But she *had* come back – with a bit of an unexpected game plan of her own.

 

She had tricked him into drinking blood that she had magically drugged, with a substance that made him very highly suggestible to her commands. Then, she had declared him to be hers – her vampire, her *pet* -- and set about proving it to be true.

 

Of course, Spike had done his best to resist her – for the first few seconds, before the drug in his system really kicked in, and, aided by his own undeniable desire for her, made any sort of resistance a useless effort. In the end, he had been pleading to be hers, begging for her touch – and he was not sure now how much of his barely remembered words had been his own longing to really belong to her, to be hers – and how much had been the drug talking.

 

It was a disturbing sort of question to have to ask himself.

 

But now, he could feel the relatively small dose she had given him beginning to wear off, even as she stood there stirring a second dose into a mug of warm blood, looking smug and self-satisfied, watching him expectantly as she waited for him to obey her orders to put on the leather garments she had carelessly tossed down on the floor beside him.

 

Still a bit out of it – and admittedly curious – Spike picked up the first item on the small stack and stared at it, wide-eyed and slack-jawed with surprise.

 

He never would have imagined that the goody-two-shoes Slayer could have been so – well -- *kinky*.

 

The tiny garment in his hand was a pair of very short, very tight black leather shorts, which looked to be just slightly too small for him – really no more than a pair of underwear.

 

There was also an odd contraption of black leather straps – a harness of sorts, which seemed to be designed to go around his torso, complete with a metal loop on the back like the one on the collar around his throat, designed to be attached to the leash that currently hung down his back from said collar.

 

Last of all, there was a pair of wide, sturdy leather cuffs, with a sort of closed hook and eye mechanism so that they could be worn separately, or attached together to bind the wearer’s wrists – and if they were attached together, Spike noticed that there was no way for the wearer to reach the mechanism to free himself.

 

He looked up at Buffy through incredulous eyes, as he muttered dubiously, “You have *got* to be bloody kidding me.”

 

Buffy’s smile became a smirk, as she glided slowly toward him, a predatory gleam in her eyes of jade. Spike moved as if to rise from his knees, suddenly wary of her and her reaction to his defiance; but she was just a bit faster, one hand fisting in his hair and jerking him backward, off balance, before he could rise.

 

He bit back a soft yelp of pain as she twisted her hand just slightly in his hair, crouching behind him and setting the mug down beside her as she murmured, “You know – I could be wrong – but I’m pretty sure I just told you to *put those on*!”

 

Spike fought the powerful impulse he felt to surrender to the effects of the drug, fading, but still there in his system, and simply do as she said. It took an effort – but he *could* resist her command.

 

“Guess what…Slayer?” he ground out the words, swallowing convulsively, his entire body taut with the effort of resistance. “Your bloody – mojo powder – is starting to – wear off! And I am *not* -- bloody well – gonna put those on!”

 

“*Yes* -- you *are*!” she insisted in a warning tone, jerking his head back forcefully – and Spike could feel the power she held over him, like a physical force, driving him to submit.

 

But he fought it. With everything in him, he fought it.

 

“Won’t – do it – Slayer,” he gasped out, though he could feel his resolve weakening. “Won’t be your – bloody pet!”

 

Much to his surprise, he felt Buffy shrug her shoulders behind him, as she released her grip on his hair, allowing him to fall forward onto his hands, gasping for breath as she replied calmly, “Okay.”

 

Just like that the tension of resistance disappeared – but his exhaustion did not.

 

And in the next moment, he was completely unprepared, when the Slayer reached around him to bring the warm mug of blood, now back in her hand, to his lips.

 

“*Drink*,” she ordered, with unmistakable authority in her tone – and Spike’s resistance was gone.

 

Without thought, before he could even attempt to stop what he was doing – Spike drank.

 

Buffy laughed softly in satisfaction, as she calmly set the empty mug down on the floor beside her, and then rose to her feet. “See?” she teased him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

Spike just stayed there on his knees, his eyes widening as he slowly realized what had just happened.

 

“Bollocks,” he muttered in dejected disbelief, at the realization that his chance to escape her domination had passed – and he had missed it.

 

“Now,” the Slayer went on pensively, “there’s the little issue of your clothes. I want them on you – for now,” she smirked.

 

“Yeah, well, I *don’t*!” Spike retorted, though there was a slight tremor to his voice. “And I’m not gonna put them on!”

 

“Put them on.”

 

Before he knew it, Spike had gathered up the pile of leather and risen to his feet, preparing to get dressed.

 

“Stop.”

 

Immediately Spike froze, the garments still clutched in his hands – closing his eyes as he let out a heavy sigh of resignation at the realization of just how easily his resolve had been broken. The sigh turned into a soft gasp, as he suddenly felt Buffy’s warm hands slip around him, her fully clothed body pressing against him from behind, as she ran her hands slowly up his thighs, toward his treacherously responsive manhood.

 

“Just – proving my point, Baby,” Buffy spoke softly in his ear. “You will – if I *say* you will.”

 

“Got your point, Slayer, loud and clear,” Spike snapped back at her, between uneven, shuddering breaths made ragged by her slowly advancing hands. “You’ve got the – the power to override my free will – got it. And you *are* -- doing this – against my will, Slayer – you kn-know that!” he gasped as one of her hands traced along the line of his inner thigh.

 

“Funny,” she breathed the word, smiling against his skin as she felt his swiftly swelling erection jump near her hand. “Your will seems to be in complete agreement with what I’m doing.”

 

“Just – just looks that way,” Spike insisted in a dangerously shaking voice, as her feather light fingertips walked their way to the base of his package. “Inside I’m – I’m saying no…”

 

“But you haven’t,” she murmured against his throat, before kissing it lightly, and following the kiss with a gentle nip that made him gasp again.

 

“Wh-what?” he whispered breathlessly, his thoughts scattering, refusing to follow her words.

 

“Told me no,” she clarified softly, closing her fist around the base of his erection, squeezing slightly. “You haven’t. If you want me to stop – just say it. No. And I’ll stop. For now,” she added with a smirk. “Because you *are* mine, Spike – and you wanna be. And sooner or later – you’re going to admit that.”

 

“N-no,” he whispered weakly, his tone making it clear that his “no” was in response to her earlier words, not her final claim – and her hand immediately froze.

 

She tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes as she suddenly released him and moved around in front of him, taking the bundle of clothes from him. “Okay,” she said quietly. “If you really want me to stop – I will.”

 

The problem was, when she actually *did* stop – Spike was suddenly not so very sure *what* he wanted. By now, he was rock hard and aching for her touch – and yet, he wanted to retain at least a little of his dignity. He had said that he would not be the Slayer’s pet – and he would not.

 

“But the clothes,” Buffy continued with a quirked eyebrow. “Not really up for debate. I told you we were going out. And you’re *not* walking around with me totally naked.”

 

“Might as well be,” he retorted, glancing at the leather in her hands with disgust. “Told you once, Slayer, I’m not putting those on!”

 

“Yeah,” she snorted softly. “And we both saw how *that* worked out for you!” She paused, before seemingly relenting, “But if you don’t want to put them on – I won’t make you.”

 

He looked up at her suspiciously, wondering about the catch – and immediately knew when he saw the wicked sparkle in her eyes, even before she spoke.

 

“*I’ll* put them on for you.”

 

“Now, wait just a…”

 

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped, and her harsh, commanding tone was an unexpected turn on for him, as Spike obediently stopped talking. “Hands out in front of you,” she ordered sternly.

 

Spike obeyed, feeling a nervous flutter in his stomach as she strapped the cuffs tightly onto his wrists, and hooked them together. Then, without warning, she suddenly shoved him hard in the chest with both hands, sending him stumbling backward against the wall. Before he even had time to catch his breath, she was upon him, one hand at his throat, her powerful arm lifting him off of his feet as he gasped for breath that he did not need – but was used to having, anyway.

 

“Lift your arms over your head and put them against the wall,” Buffy snapped, ignoring his futile struggles. “Higher,” she snapped when his obedience failed to meet her specifications.

 

Once he had done as she wanted, she suddenly released her grip on his throat – but he did not fall far, his leather cuffs catching on an outcropping of rock several feet above his head, leaving his feet dangling about six inches above the floor. He winced at the impact on his wrists, the burning that immediately started building in his strained, taut arms – but was surprised to find that the width of the cuffs, and the close fit of the leather against his skin, kept the position from being painful.

 

It was not exactly *comfortable* - but not painful.

 

As he waited helplessly for Buffy’s next move, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath, Spike opened his eyes and looked apprehensively down at the Slayer – who was standing back, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked him up and down appraisingly.

 

The lustful gleam in her eyes as she took in the sight of him, naked except for the handcuffs, bound and at her mercy, sent a shock of arousal through him that shook him to his core, and caused his erection to swell almost painfully, as she let out a low, dark laugh and sauntered closer to him, the rest of his leather costume in her hands.

 

“Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively. “Happy birthday to me!”

 

She reached her arms around him, taking her time to trail her fingertips, and the rough leather straps they held, across the at-the-moment very sensitive skin of his stomach, before bringing the straps together behind his back in several places – fastening the harness on firmly. It was not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but fit the planes of his chest and stomach perfectly, with no give to the leather whatsoever.

 

The light restriction of the leather against his bare skin only served to heighten Spike’s arousal – and when Buffy dropped to her knees in front of him, for the second time that night, he could not stifle the soft moan of need that rose in his throat.

 

“Isn’t this ironic,” the Slayer remarked with a smirk, trailing one perfectly manicured fingernail teasingly up the inside of his thigh, looking up at him coyly from between his legs. “When we both know that really – you’re the one at *my* feet.” When her fingernail trailed lightly up the underside of his erection, Spike’s back arched slightly, as he bucked against her hand, desperate for more contact.

 

So of course – she promptly removed what little contact he had.

 

Tsking at him softly, shaking her head, she remarked, “We’re gonna have to get that thing under control, aren’t we, Sweetheart?”

 

*No,* Spike wanted to beg her – beyond pride at this point – but her orders kept him silent. *No, don’t – just *touch* me!*

 

But the Slayer just did what she had knelt to do, drawing the tiny black leather shorts up over his ankles, then rising gradually as she pulled them up over his thighs, taking her time and relishing the slight tremors and jerks of his body at the sensation of the rough leather on his skin.

 

She stopped the progress she was making when the shorts rested high on his thighs, just below his desperate member, pressing her legs in against his, her hands on either side of his waist as she leaned in very close to his face to speak softly, he piercing emerald gaze seeking his until he met her eyes.

 

“Now,” she said intently. “Why don’t you tell me what you *really* want, Spike? Do you want me to touch you – or is your answer still ‘no’?” When he did not respond, she added, “Go ahead – you may speak.”

 

He hated himself for it, but there was no other response he could give. She had teased him with her light touches, until he was frenzied with his need for her, and helpless to do anything about it.

 

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking over the word. Then he hurried to clarify, stammering and stumbling over the rest of his words, “I mean – no, I d-don’t still mean no…I mean…Buffy…God, Buffy, please *touch* me!”

 

Her hand closed tightly around his erection, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she hissed, “*Mistress*!”

 

“Mistress!” he echoed, a hiss of mingled pleasure and pain leaving his lips as she tightened her grip just slightly. “Please, Mistress! Please – please touch me!”

 

“Well – since you asked so nicely,” Buffy smirked, clearly pleased with herself, and her accuracy in predicting his eventual response to her. Her hand gentled on his body, as she stroked up and down his weeping member, increasing and decreasing the pressure she used, varying it to drive him to a fever pitch.

 

And then – she stopped again.

 

Spike let out a sound that he knew was not particularly manly – almost a whimper – as she released him and walked away from him a few yards.

 

“Buffy – Mistress – please!” he gasped out. “Please, don’t stop…”

 

She was back in an instant, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth, pressing his head back against the cool stone behind him, as she rose up on her toes to get right in his face. “Am I gonna have to gag you too, Spikey? Because I will if you don’t stop annoying the crap out of me!”

 

He shook his head as much as her firm hand would allow – and she removed it…but his heart sank when he realized the reason for her movement a few moments before. Much to his frustration and dismay, she took the cock ring she had retrieved from the floor a few yards away, and strapped it tightly around the base of his erection, tighter than she had made it before.

 

“Like I said,” she smirked up at him. “We’re going out. Can’t be late, can we?”

 

Spike stared at her in horrified disbelief. Surely she could not mean to make him spend an entire evening like this? His horror and disbelief swiftly began to turn to anger, and he pulled against the bonds at his wrists, which only seemed to grow tighter with his efforts.

 

“What?” he demanded sarcastically, glad for the moment that she had not *technically* forbidden him to speak. “So you’re just going to bloody *punish* me for not doing every little thing you say? Because I didn’t want to put on this soddin’ joke of a slave’s outfit, you’re gonna be a bloody bitch about it? All *night*?”

 

“Shut *up*!” she ordered, and there was a thunderously angry tone to her voice that stilled his protests in his throat, that anxious fluttering feeling returning to his stomach at the outrage that flashed in her eyes.

 

He was silent, eyes wide, chest heaving, every muscle in his mostly exposed body throbbing with tension as he watched her apprehensively for her reaction – remembering belatedly that he *was*, after all, at her mercy.

 

“First of all – you’re not my slave, Spike. You’re my pet. There’s a difference.”

 

He could not help the slight derisive scoff of disbelief at those words.

 

Instantly, her hand was locked in a viselike grip on his unruly blonde hair, seizing his head and yanking it backwards, as she rose up on her toes to snarl near his throat, “You’re mine, either way – so I can *show* you the difference if you’d like!”

 

Spike flinched at her obvious anger, swallowing convulsively, his eyes closed, before finally shaking his head in submission – backing down.

 

“Secondly,” she continued, her voice softer as she released him, “You will learn that it is in your best interest to do what I say. *Always*. You make me mad – like I said – you *will* be punished. You make me happy – well – let’s see how happy you can make me tonight, and I’ll show you just how pleasant the rewards can be.”

 

Despite her menacing manner only moments before, Spike could not help the rush of desire that flooded him at the seductive promise in her sparkling green eyes, the wicked little smirk that formed on her slightly pouting lips.

 

He was so caught up in her suggestive offer, that he was taken completely off guard when she suddenly jerked the leather shorts up over his hips, and with the flat of her hand pressed his rock hard member downward into them, yanking the zipper up in one quick, sharp motion.

 

He let out a yelp that was more of surprise and fear than actual pain – though he immediately found that the sensation of the metal of the zipper biting into his erection was indeed more than uncomfortable. The rough underside of the leather rubbed against his already over-sensitive flesh, increasing both his arousal and his discomfort.

 

And he hadn’t even moved yet.

 

He bit back a moan at the jarring motion as Buffy suddenly unfastened the leather cuffs at his wrists, freeing them from the wall and each other, as he fell to his feet, and then his knees, on the cold stone floor.

 

He immediately moved to get up – but she caught his collar in her hand, and refused to allow it, adjusting the leash that was already hooked to the collar so that it was attached to both the collar, and the top loop of the harness he wore.

 

“There,” she said with satisfaction, her hand under his elbow pulling gently, indicating that it was all right for him to get up now. “Now I can keep you in line without choking you,” she explained matter-of-factly. “But if you misbehave…” She demonstrated with a slight flick of her wrist that caused the leash to pull at the collar instead of the harness, and he gagged slightly against it as he stumbled backwards toward her.

 

“Come on,” she ordered imperiously, leading the way out of his crypt.

 

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” he asked, a bit sullenly, glancing around the cemetery as they went, desperately hoping that no vamps were about to see him in this humiliating predicament.

 

“Not that I have to tell you,” she reminded him. “But we’re going to see my friends, at the Magic Box.”

 

Spike stopped suddenly, halting her progress, and the Slayer turned to face him, an exasperated expression on her face.

 

“What?” she demanded, at the look of utter horror on his face. “They’re closed. It’s not like any strangers will see you. Tonight.” Her smirk promised that even that was not a humiliation that he would avoid forever.

 

He was shocked that he actually had to *tell* her that her bloody Scoobies seeing him like this was a thousand times worse than any ordinary bloke he didn’t know happening to catch a glimpse. “No,” he objected, shaking his head emphatically. “No, you can’t make me…”

 

“Yes, I can,” she informed him dangerously, jerking on the leash and yanking him in very close to her, holding him inches from her face so that he could not pull away, as her hand lowered between them to stroke possessively over the highly repressed bulge in the front of his leather shorts.

 

He tried to pull away from the excruciating added stimulation, but she pressed her knee forward against his legs, forcing him to stumble back against a headstone behind him, and then just renewed the light trail of her fingertips over the taut leather, a bit more aggressively. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides, and then gripped at the headstone, but he dared not attempt to prevent her, afraid that if he did, she would only bind his wrists again, and continue to do whatever she wanted to him.

 

“How many times am I going to have to tell you, Spike,” she said softly, as she pinched her thumb and forefinger together slightly against the front of the shorts, and his head fell back with a desperate gasp, his eyes closed. “You. Are. *Mine*. That means *I* call the shots – and *you* do what I tell you. Have you got that yet, Spikey?”

 

He nodded helplessly, his breath fast and shallow as she moved her squeezing fingers slowly down the length of his covered erection, the tight leather allowing her just enough contact to drive him wild with need, without granting him even an instant of satisfaction.

 

“Okay,” she relented finally, releasing him, catching him as he nearly collapsed forward onto his knees. “We’re going on to meet my friends.” She smirked as she steadied him, and then started back on her way as if nothing had happened. “I can’t wait to show off my new pet – and Giles has some major explaining to do.”

 

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder as she added suggestively, “And if you’re a *really* good boy – I might just give you a treat when we get home.”

 

And – with no other option – her vampire pet followed in her wake, toward the certain humiliation that waited at the Magic Box…and the possible bliss of the promised reward beyond.


	4. Chapter 4

*She won’t really do this – she’s just trying to scare me – she wouldn’t really…*  
  
But every step that Buffy led Spike, nearer and nearer to the Magic Box, made it harder and harder to convince himself that she would not really do what she had said she was going to do – would not really take his humiliation that far.  
  
He tried to think of a way out of the situation he had found himself in – but nothing came to mind.  
  
The only slight mercy afforded him, he thought ruefully, was the fact that it was nearly midnight – and in Sunnydale, that meant there were no people on the streets to witness his humiliation.  
  
He was being led down the sidewalk at the end of a soddin’ *leash*, attached to a black leather collar she had placed around his neck – nearly naked, with only a scandalously tiny pair of tight leather shorts, and a black harness binding, but not really covering, his torso. His hands were bound behind his back in thick leather cuffs – and the magical drug she had given him in his blood earlier – ensuring his absolute obedience to her every command – was not even *beginning* to wear off!  
  


No, he would be helplessly subject to her every command at least for the next few hours, if the effects of the first dose she had given him were any indication.

Of course, he had no way of knowing exactly how much she had given him the first time, since he had not actually seen her do it – but the effects had lasted at least a good three hours. The second time, Buffy had not even bothered to hide what she was doing, as she had casually emptied the packet of white, rapidly dissolving powder into his mug.

Really, Spike thought with a sinking heart as the Magic Box came into sight at the end of the block, he had no way of knowing whether or not he had hours, minutes, or days, before he would be free of her control. The amount he had watched her pour into his blood could have been a fraction of the original dose – or ten times as much…he had no idea.

And when it came right down to it, she could always do as she had done with this last dosage, and order him to drink more of the drugged blood before the effects of the current dose wore off.

If she wanted to, she could keep him under her power for – well – as long as she wanted to.

A slight tug on the collar around his neck drew his attention away from his spiraling thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing a few feet behind him, stopped on the sidewalk – looking up at the Magic Box sign.

A slow smirk spread across Spike’s face, as a sense of relief washed over him at her apparent hesitance.

“Changed your mind, did you, love?” he guessed with a smug note to his voice. “Not so sure about going in there and showing off your new hobby to all your friends, now it comes right down to it, are you?”

“Oh, I’m *completely* sure!” Buffy smirked right back at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m just trying to decide how I want to show you off – walking behind me on a leash…or *crawling* on it.”

Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief, aghast at what she was suggesting.

His reaction seemed to seal it for her. Her smile widened as she ordered softly, “On your knees.”

Immediately he obeyed without hesitation, though he cringed inwardly at the automatic subservience of his own actions. His eyes were downcast, as he watched her slender, shapely legs slowly pace toward him – unable to bring himself to look up into her eyes, not wanting her to see the mixture of embarrassment and arousal in his all-too-expressive gaze.

As she neared him, Spike caught the unmistakable scent of her own desire – and felt his already swollen member strain uncomfortably against the taut leather of the shorts that restrained it.

“Look at me.”

A soft but firm hand at his chin tilted his head up toward hers as she spoke, and he found himself forced to meet her gaze.

“God, Spike,” she murmured, a sort of stunned awe in her low, husky voice. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? Seeing you like this?”

The raw desire he heard in her voice drove Spike’s own arousal higher, as he replied in a soft, barely controlled voice, “S’pose I do, love.”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, a slow smile of affectionate pleasure coming over her face.

“I think we’re both going to like this arrangement, Spike. You’ll see – as long as you can admit it to yourself – and as long as you please me.” Her voice hardened slightly, as she added with an air of command, “While we’re in public, you will not speak without my permission. You will obey my every command, and if I sit down, you will kneel at my feet – unless I tell you to do otherwise. Are we clear?”

Spike nodded, his jaw setting with a sullen acceptance, as he resigned himself to the fact that she was actually going to do this to him.

“Good,” she nodded her satisfaction, as she turned and led him the few remaining feet to the door. As the leash became taut, Spike stumbled forward on his knees, unable to keep up with her without his hands to help him balance.

“Buffy,” he gasped out. “Could you just…”

His words were cut off in a sharp gasp of fear, as her foot suddenly pressed against the front of his leather shorts, brought almost level with the ground by his near fall. She was not pressing hard enough to hurt him – just hard enough to remind him that she *could* be hurting him, badly, if she wanted to.

“What did you call me?” she asked him in a softly warning voice.

“Mistress!” he corrected hastily, his breath coming fast and shallow, his head dropping to the ground, his eyes closed, as he fought off a chill of panic. “Please – please, Mistress!”

Satisfied, Buffy withdrew the pressure she had been applying, as she asked softly, “What were you going to ask me?”

Spike could hardly remember at this point – but her sharply raised eyebrow seemed to quicken his memory, as he hurried to respond, “Please – Mistress – I could keep up with you better on my knees – if my hands were free.”

“Probably,” Buffy agreed with a smirk. “But – I love watching you struggle – so that’s just what you’ll have to do, isn’t it?”

Spike bit back an angry retort that he knew would only get him into more trouble, and simply did his best not to fall on his face again, as he followed her to the door. He noticed with some surprise, however, that she *did* slow her pace a bit, making it a little easier on him.

He looked up at her in surprise when she knocked on the door, instead of just walking in as she usually did.

She winked at him as she revealed her secret. “You’re lucky. I’ve decided to go easy on you to start with. The shop is closed; Giles is the only one still here.”

Spike did not know if that news should be a relief to him, or not.

He had no time to consider the question, before the door had opened, revealing a rather stunned Watcher, as Giles took in he almost incomprehensible sight that met his eyes.

“Hi, Giles,” the Slayer smiled brightly at her dumbfounded Watcher. “We need to talk.”

************************************

The hot flush of humiliation finally began to fade from Spike’s face, as Buffy and Giles sat at the research table, talking quietly.

He had had no choice but to follow Buffy on his knees, as she had stalked into the Magic Box, demanding answers to the questions she still held about the things she had read in the Watcher’s book – the stories about previous Slayers, and the vampire pets they had kept.

To his surprise, the sense of shame Spike felt had abated slightly when the Watcher had not even acknowledged him, barely looked his way in fact – directing his answers – and questions, too, for that matter – instead to the Slayer who held the end of his leash.

Once he understood what Buffy had done – Giles did not even seem the least bit perturbed by the sight of Spike in his slave’s costume.

At first, the vampire had felt a sense of indignant outrage, as they had both completely ignored him – except for a brief moment when Buffy had given him a rather severe look, and tapped her leg lightly in a silent command for him to assume the position she had instructed him to outside – on his knees at her feet, as she sat at the table.

But as Buffy had begun talking, he had soon found his attention drawn to her words, as she had explained to Giles how she had found his writings among the books on the upper level of the shop, and the questions those writings had brought to her mind.

The vague hope Spike had held that the Watcher might somehow talk her out of this insane charade, slowly faded away, as Giles amazingly seemed to accept Buffy’s explanations of what she was doing. In fact, from what Spike gathered, he seemed to actually be in an odd sort of resigned support of what she had done – as if it was something that was perfectly natural, and ultimately unavoidable.

As the conversation went on, with the Watcher describing in detail some of the cases he had studied, and the Slayer asking questions as they occurred to her, with rising interest – Buffy idly ran her fingers through Spike’s hair, gently twisting small sections free of the gel that trapped them, forming them back into their natural state of unruly curls as she wound them around her fingers without even realizing she was doing it.

The repetitive action seemed to relax her, because her voice softened, becoming quiet and even as she spoke at length with her Watcher – and the combination of her soothing tone, and her soft, hypnotic touches, slowly began to lull Spike into a sort of comfortable haze, with nothing to focus on but those two things, as the exhaustion of the previous two days began to finally catch up with him.

“So – your intention is to keep him under the influence of the drug – indefinitely?” Giles asked her in a voice of quiet interest.

With an effort, Spike pulled himself up out of the passive fog that he had been drifting into under the Slayer’s casual, gentle caress – forcing himself to forget for a moment how pleasant it was to finally be touched by her with gentleness and affection, and to remember that he was chained, on his knees, and here almost completely against his will.

*Almost?* he challenged his own thoughts indignantly. *Completely! Bloody well *completely* against my will, you stupid git! Now quit behaving like a bloody ponce and pay attention, and you may just find out what it is she’s planning – and how to get around it!*

“For as long as I have to,” Buffy replied to her Watcher’s question with a slow nod, tugging gently on Spike’s hair before resuming her soft, lulling strokes through it. “From now on – if I have to.”

“If you have to?” Giles prompted, curiosity and concern in his voice.

It was an audible echo of the question in Spike’s mind.

Buffy nodded, still not even sparing a glance for the vampire kneeling submissively at her side. “Well, honestly,” she confessed softly, “I really don’t think it’s going to be necessary for all that long. I think, with a little time, I should be able to -- *convince* Spike that this is what he really *wants*, deep down.”

Giles’ startled, disbelieving laugh drowned out the quiet growl that suddenly rose in Spike’s throat in contradiction of her words. “*Spike*? You think he would actually 8want* to be – well – to belong to you, Buffy?”

As Spike’s instinctive growl left his lips, he tried to pull away from her hand in his hair – but he had barely moved when she had already reacted, her hand closing firmly on his hair and holding his head in place, not allowing him to pull away.

Without even looking at him, or missing a beat at all, Buffy smiled at her Watcher as she replied, “You’d be surprised at what Spike really wants, Giles. He just needs a little help – figuring it out, sometimes…”

“I’m afraid I really don’t want to know how you’ve come to that conclusion,” the Watcher remarked dubiously.

As he spoke, he was completely unaware of Buffy’s actions under the edge of the table.

Spike, for his part, could be aware of nothing else at the moment.

Still holding his head firmly in place to prevent his escape, Buffy trailed one foot slowly from the floor, up across his knees and thighs, finally reaching the small, flimsy piece of leather between them. Spike bit back a moan, as her foot rubbed lightly across the front of his almost painfully tight leather shorts.

“Almost” painful quickly became excruciating.

“No,” Buffy said calmly, giving no visible indication to her Watcher of what was going on under the table. “No, you probably don’t. Just – trust me…” She increased the pressure she was applying slightly, driving the vampire’s helpless desire to a near fever pitch. “…I *know* how to handle Spike.”

He could not help squirming slightly under the relentless, unbearable stimulation she was administering – and Buffy’s hand in his hair suddenly became tighter, as she gave him a quiet but sharp reprimand, “Be still, Spike – stop wiggling.”

He had no choice but to obey, and forced himself to keep still, despite her continued touches – although he was beginning to wonder what the effect might be if the Slayer were to give him a command that was physically impossible for him, while he was under the influence of the obedience drug.

He had the feeling that he might very soon find out.

“Really, he’s so fidgety,” Buffy shook her head as she innocently explained away her command.

Giles, utterly clueless, nodded and smiled understandingly. “He always has been, hasn’t he? Well, just one of many annoying habits you might now be able to take in hand.”

As the overwhelming sensations in his lower regions began to consume Spike’s body, his resistance began to fall away, and Buffy’s restraining grip on his hair softened once more, as her long, graceful fingers returned to their slow, mesmerizing motions, sending tingling little trails of pleasure where they stroked along his scalp.

“Still, Buffy,” Giles cautioned her. “You should be very careful. Do not allow him freedom from the drug at all until there is absolutely no doubt in your mind as to your total control over him.”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him softly, as out of his sight, she dipped her foot down low to trace the underside of the ever-increasing bulge in Spike’s shorts, with a slow circular pressure that was, little by little, driving him out of his mind with need. “I’ll keep him completely under control.”

**********************************

“Don’t worry about the shop. I feel like training for a little while. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

Spike might have caught the underlying truth behind the Slayer’s words – the fact that by this point, she was nearly as desperate as he was for connection between them – had he been capable of rational thought at all by this point.

She had continued her slow, torturous contact under the table, driving him to a frenzy that could not be satisfied – not until she decided to release him from the restraint of the black leather ring that bound his erection under his shorts. He had desperately wanted to pull away, to beg her to stop – to beg her to *never* stop – but he had been prevented from any of those things by the command she had issued earlier that evening.

When Buffy got up to walk her Watcher to the door and lock it behind him, gesturing for Spike to stay put while she did – it was all he could do not to whimper in protest at the loss of contact.

The click of the lock was impossibly loud in the stillness that filled the room in the Watcher’s absence. Buffy turned around, her hand still on the lock behind her, her back braced against the door for a moment as she looked the bound, kneeling vampire over with hungry eyes.

In an instant, she was across the room and upon him, one hand twisting the leash around it until it was taut, and her fist was pressed against the back of his head, as in the same swift motion she pulled him to his feet, her free hand reaching down between them to play teasingly across the front of his shorts, as her lips crashed down on his in a fiercely possessive, passionate kiss.

“Bu- Mistress,” Spike had the presence of mind to correct himself, as he moaned his pleasure and need against her mouth. “Mistress, please – need you…” As he spoke, his body thrust unconsciously upward toward her hand, in his desperate need for more than the light, torturous contact she was currently allowing.

And she was not yet ready to allow more.

The hand between them suddenly shifted to his hip, shoving him forcefully back against the table behind him and pinning him there, his head pulled back by the leash around her fist at the same time, so that his back was arched, his torso in a taut bow over the table.

Buffy stood just to the side of him, her expression calm, though her eyes were dark with lust, and her chest heaved, breathless with her own desire. Her voice was a low whisper, both warning and seductive, as she replied.

“*I’ll* decide what you need.”

Spike knew that there was only one response that would lead to both their satisfaction.

“Yes, Mistress,” he gasped out, his eyes closed as his body relented, submissive to her hands as she pulled him back up to his feet.

“Come here,” she instructed, her voice softer now, and enticing, her eyes glittering with sudden inspiration over a sly smile, as she led him with her toward the training room door.

The room was dark and silent – and the Slayer did not bother with lights, satisfied that the faint glow of the lights from the shop through the open doorway would be enough to suit her purposes.

Without a word, she turned him around to face her, as she pushed him firmly against the wall behind him, her free hand resting low on his hip, her fingertips edging just below the line of the shorts he wore, tracing idly back and forth as she met his eyes with an almost feral gleam in her gaze.

Spike winced slightly as she pressed in closer – both at the increased pressure of his bound wrists into the small of his back…and the increased pressure of his intense arousal against the binding leather that covered his manhood.

“Aww,” Buffy’s voice was mockingly sympathetic, as her intrusive fingertips stopped their path midway across his abdomen, her thumb pressing lightly over the base of his erection through the leather. “Got a problem, Spikey?”

He hesitated just a moment, before leaning his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, gasping for breath as he nodded eagerly.

“Want me to help you?” she purred enticingly, intensifying the pressure of her thumb as she sidled in even closer to him – her thighs against his as she pulled his head back slightly farther and began a light, teasing trail of kisses along his jawline.

Spike hoped that the question constituted permission to speak, as he gasped out, “Y-yes…please, Mistress…yes…”

“What do you want me to do for you, Spike?” Buffy asked him softly, lifting her head to meet his eyes again.

The smoldering desire in that gaze only served to increase his desperation – as did the sound of his own voice as he moaned out the words he knew she wanted to hear, “Please – let me come – please, Mistress…”

“Mmm,” she murmured, a low chuckle escaping her lips as she resumed the soft, tender kisses down his jaw, along the line of his throat. “Sounds good…I know *I* want to…” She looked up again, a wicked sparkle in her eyes as she unwound her hand from the leash, and lowered both her hands to rest at the top of the tight leather shorts. “Whether or not *you* get to – well – we’ll see…”

The sense of relief Spike felt as she unzipped the shorts and slid them down around his upper thighs was almost overwhelming, and he felt his body trembling with anticipation and need as she trailed her hands slowly back up his thighs, one of them lingering to trace up and down the length of his fully erect member, while the other went to brace at the back of his neck, as she pulled him in for another slow, lingering kiss.

But he knew that his relief was perhaps, premature.

A moment later, he became quite sure that it was, as she suddenly tore her lips from his, her eyes narrowing in an almost predatory way as she looked him up and down once – before turning him around forcefully so that his face was to the wall, pressing in behind him in a dominating, possessive manner as she trailed her hands up the backs of his thighs to the firm, pale flesh of his buttocks.

She lingered there a moment, squeezing and massaging lightly until she heard him stifle a little moan, and giggled softly in pleasure as she raised her hands to circle around his bound wrists firmly. He winced as the coarse leather was pressed against his tender wrists, aggravated by the continued bondage of the cuffs.

Leaning in close behind him, Buffy whispered softly in his ear, “If I give you the use of your hands – can you use them only as I tell you?”

Eager both for his hands to be free in general, and for them to be free to touch her, Spike nodded emphatically. “Yes…yes, please…”

“Good,” she murmured, and he felt the sudden slackness of his wrists as she unfastened the metal catch that bound the cuffs together behind his back, and then turned him around again to face her.

He met her eyes cautiously, uncertain as to what she wanted him to do, keeping his hands carefully at his sides as she trailed her fingertips lightly from his shoulders, down to trace the line of the leather cuffs on his wrists.

He saw a trace of what appeared to be genuine sympathy in her eyes, when he winced slightly at the contact. With a little quirk of her lips into a slight frown of displeasure, she took first one wrist, and then the other, and carefully unfastened the cuffs, allowing them to fall to the floor.

Suddenly, her eyes locked with his, as she raised his right wrist slowly between them, holding his gaze as she kissed it tenderly, almost apologetically, gently caressing the bruised flesh in a comforting gesture. Then, never breaking eye contact, she took his hand and placed it lightly on her hip, before repeating the same procedure on his other wrist, and placing it on her other hip.

Gently, her hands went to either side of his face, as she leaned in closer, only breaking eye contact when she had to, as she kissed him again – slowly, thoroughly, taking her time and cherishing the connection between them, as her hands moved to slowly trail down his sides, her thumbs moving slowly inward when she reached the line of his hips, eliciting a soft moan of need against her mouth.

“C’mere,” she murmured without breaking the kiss, turning them suddenly and guiding him a bit blindly toward the center of the room, where a work-out mat was still laid out on the floor.

Together, they dropped to the floor, and she pushed him backward so that she was over him, meeting his gaze with wide, almost startled emerald eyes, before her mouth descended on his once more.

Tentatively, Spike’s hands moved up and down the sides of her body, not quite daring to do as he longed to and to touch her more intimately – all too aware of the drug that was still coursing through his body, and the leather ring that still bound his cock – and the fact that those two things meant that she could still cut this encounter off and leave him wanting at any moment that she chose to do so.

“Take off my skirt,” she instructed him softly, against his lips, before they began moving downward toward his throat again

Eagerly Spike obeyed, sliding the garment down around her knees, where she promptly kicked it the rest of the way off – and he could not hold back a soft, choked cry of pleasure and desire as he felt the heat from her damp center hovering over his needy erection.

One of her hands slid down between them again, wrapping around his member and sliding up and down a few times as she smiled down at him lazily, her hand positioning him at her entrance – but not quite taking him in yet.

“You want me?” she asked softly, huskily.

“Yes!” he gasped. “I need you, Buffy!”

Either she did not catch his slip – or she chose to ignore it this once, her own eyes dark and hazy and hungry with desire, as her smile widened at his confession.

“I want you,” she whispered in return – not quite able to bring herself to speak the same words he had – whether or not she might have felt them. “You’re mine, Spike – only mine…aren’t you?”

Her tone was tender, affectionate, not demanding – and he could do nothing but respond in kind, although he had not been ordered to.

“Yours, Buffy,” he whispered, holding her gaze, his own eyes widening in surprise at how easily the words came – how right they sounded. “Only yours – always…”

Satisfied, the Slayer’s finger’s deftly unfastened the cock ring, flinging it aside as she plunged down onto his body, encasing him in her soft heat with a soft little cry to voice her own pleasure.

And in that moment -- the details didn't matter to either of them.

Spike knew, like he knew that he was a vampire, like he knew that sunlight would kill him -- like he knew that he loved her...that he *was* hers, as she said -- and always would be, regardless of any bonds or drug or any other measure she might feel the need to use to prove the point.

He was hers.

And he could only hope that someday, he could make her his, as well.


End file.
